


The Bells of Blue Earth

by Tipsy_Kitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Blood Drinking, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:17:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has spent most of his life locked away in the church bell tower, obedient to Master Jim and his strange teachings. Then the carnival comes to town, bringing with it a stranger Sam knows only from his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bells of Blue Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the super-disney challenge, based on The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
> 
> Thanks so much to [](http://daniomalley22.livejournal.com/profile)[daniomalley22](http://daniomalley22.livejournal.com/) and [](http://firesign10.livejournal.com/profile)[firesign10](http://firesign10.livejournal.com/) for the speedy and super-helpful beta reads! You ladies are beyond awesome for putting up with my dithering and procrastination.

 

  
_In a barren city of steel and glass, He will rise again, wear skin again, and will proclaim_

_That those who look upon His face with malice will be struck down; That the rivers and lakes will run with the blood of the dissenters; That maggots shall feast on the living flesh of the nonbelievers; That the star of the morning will scorch the land and purify the earth._

_And His believers will glory in his return forever._

_Lilith 10: 7-12_

 

 

Sam sets aside his bible and kneels on the freshly swept floor of the bell tower, face pressed to the circular window as he watches people scurry around far below. Food trucks and game trailers are driven onto the sidewalks in front of the church, and carnies move with ruthless efficiency, setting up the handful of dingy rides whose lurid colors have long since faded into weak pastels.

There’s a shuttered door leading to the balcony that he could step onto for a better look, but he’s been warned (trained) to keep himself hidden away from the good, God-fearing people of Blue Earth, and he’s learned that lesson well.

Still, this is Sam’s favorite week of the year, and he will spend as much time as possible watching from above as Main Street is transformed into a midway for the annual Fire & Rescue Carnival, watching the people below—so many people—play and laugh, flirt and fight. Little kids tugging on their parents’ arms with sugar-sticky hands, bored teenagers spiking their fresh-squeezed lemonade. There will be a talent show later in the week on a makeshift stage in front of the courthouse, and a Miss Lady Slipper pageant, and throughout it all, the scents wafting in through the belfry slats will make his mouth water and his stomach gurgle.

If he’s _very_ good this week, Master Jim will bring him a treat—sugary fried dough, maybe, or a sandwich stuffed with sausage and peppers. His mouth waters, fingers clenching involuntarily just thinking of it, but he reminds himself that he’s lucky enough to be fed at all.

Reminds himself that he’s a monster, alive only through Master Jim’s kindness and charity.

Far below, one of the carnies strips off his flannel overshirt and knots it around his waist. The late afternoon sun in his hair is luminous as a halo, and Sam’s breath catches in his throat. His eyes are green like spring grass, Sam knows, even though he’s much too far away to make out such details.

But he knows, he _knows_. He’s dreamed of this man for years, dreamed of him since he was a child. He’s grown up with this stranger in the back seat of a large black car, his dreams unspooling every night like an unending stretch of highway, blessed reprieve from the nightmares of fire and bone and blood.

In the dreams they squabble and make up and laugh themselves sick. In the dreams he’s called Dean and he looks at Sam like he hung the moon.

He’s the most beautiful thing Sam’s ever seen.

Sam presses his hand against the glass. For the first time in years, Sam wishes he could walk down the rickety wooden steps and out into the sun.

“See something you like, tiger?” says a voice behind him, a whisper-purr that curls around Sam’s brain like a viper.

He tenses, caught.

“Master?” he whispers, voice rough from disuse, as he stumbles hastily away from the window.

“It’s okay, Sammy, you can look.” A companionable arm slips around Sam’s thin frame, squeezes Sam’s shoulder, hard. “I _know_ you know better than to touch.”

Sam waits, trembling, for his judgment to be passed.

“Still…” Master Jim says thoughtfully. “Still, I think 20 lashes for covetousness, don’t you agree?”

Sam feels shame well up in him, stupid, _stupid_ , to get caught but even worse to disappoint Master Jim, who has dedicated his life to scrubbing the stain from Sam’s soul, who has dedicated Sam’s life to the Lightbringer.

“Yes, Master,” he agrees. Obedience is all he knows. Obedience and punishment for his many, many failings.

Sam sees Master Jim’s eyes narrow as he watches the stranger work on the Ferris wheel; his grip tightens on Sam’s shoulder until Sam fears Master’s fingers might actually puncture his flesh.

“Stay away from that one, Sam,” he says coldly. “I see the evil that lives in his heart.”

It’s bad that night, one of the worst punishments Sam can remember. Master Jim is so unnerved by the stranger Sam was watching that he gives Sam much more than 20 lashes; by the end, blood is running freely down Sam’s back. He hangs from his wrists on a long piece of rough rope that has been wound through the rusty steel of the top of the bell tower, hangs limp and exhausted as the lashes rain down on him, ripping open the flesh of his back.

He thanks Master Jim after each punishing blow, thanks him for as long as he’s able, thanks Master Jim for being willing to show Sam the way.

Before he’s released from the ropes, as he hovers just above unconsciousness, he feels Master Jim run the old brass goblet along his open wounds, collecting Sam’s blood.

“Meg?” he hears through the haze of pain. “Get here soon as you can. And bring reinforcements.”

 

\+ + +

 

His dreams are fevered and raw; livid, open wounds. Blood and fire, piercing towers of light that reach the stars and cut like glass. He twitches restlessly in his sleep, lying on his stomach on the old mattress in the corner of the tower. Towards dawn he imagines a voice telling him he’ll be okay, soothing his wounds. He fights against the gentle touch, grasps his way to wakefulness. Master Jim is there, petting Sam’s hair. He opens a vein and Sam drinks, satisfied that his wounds will soon close because Master Jim has willed it so.

 

\+ + +

 

Sam spends the next day sleeping, too weak to even watch the Carnival Opening, which he hasn’t missed in a dozen years.

Master Jim’s open wrist pressed against Sam’s bloodless lips has quenched something in him, though, cured something that might have broken him completely, and by nightfall Sam has dragged himself back to his corner of the cupola where he can watch the street below.

Blue Earth is not a large town; many of the owner-operated stores are boarded up these days. Hamm’s Hardware fell when the Wal-Mart opened outside of town, and the pharmacy/cafe went the same way when a Subway appeared on the stretch of highway that led from Blue Earth like a ribbon of possibilities. It is rare that Sam has anyone to actually spy on, and he’s determined to enjoy this week even as his tortured flesh screams at him.

But by the time he is lucid, has swum his way out of the darkest dreams and crawled over to the stained glass window, it is after 11, and Blue Earth goes to bed early. The lights are winking out on the midway, air compressors falling silent as the rides spin slowly back into place and the last of the people climb out, dizzy and laughing. The Ferris wheel is the last to fall still. Just before the lights wink out for the night, Sam sees the stranger, Dean, studying the church façade like he’s looking for something.

Or someone.

He’s been left alone since he took his well-deserved punishment the night before, and he’s grateful, mostly, especially if Meg and Tom are in town—they seem to take a singular pleasure in torturing Sam while Master Jim is otherwise occupied.

But being left alone also means he hasn’t been fed in at least two days, and he feels like his bones are going to poke through his flesh like plants seeking the sun if he’s not given at least a bowl of oatmeal. When Master Jim feeds him from his wrist, he feels strong for an hour or two, but his hungry body needs more in the way of nourishment.

So when the angel of the Ferris wheel climbs up the stairs and steps into the belfry carrying something called a Stromboli, Sam thinks he could be forgiven for imagining he’s hallucinating.

The sandwich is cold, had been procured from a vendor hours ago, but the bread is yeasty soft and the meat falls apart on Sam’s tongue. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

He devours it, then drinks long and deep from the tin pitcher of tepid water that Master Jim keeps for him in the corner. When he’s sated, his stomach gurgling happily as it struggles to digest the rich food it’s been given, Sam turns to his visitor.

“You like that?” the man asks, amused.

Sam, feeling full and content and at least half convinced he’s hallucinating—he has, after all, had long and complicated theological discussions with the gargoyles etched into the stone edifices that flank the church tower—smiles back lazily and pats his belly.

“Thanks, Dean,” he says, and the man stills.

“How’d you know my name?” he asks cautiously.

Sam shrugs, too tired and sated to worry about which truths are safe to tell. “Just do.”

“Did Jim mention me?”

Sam shakes his head. “He doesn’t like you. Told me to stay away from you.”

Dean chews his lower lip thoughtfully. “Look, I can’t stay, but could you maybe come down tomorrow? I’ll be at the wheel most of the day.”

Sam’s eyes are closing, his worn out body and contented belly fighting a losing battle with his excitement over meeting this strange man he feels like he’s known all his life.

“Not supposed to,” he mumbles. “Not s’posed to leave.”

“Please? Just for a little while?”

“I’ll try.” He sits up straighter, looks at Dean earnestly. “But you should go. Bad things happen to people that Master Jim doesn’t like.”

Dean’s eyes are dark and dangerous in the low light, but he nods his assent and starts for the stairs.

They both hear the voices below at the same time, moving towards the stairs, and Sam’s eyes widen in panic. “Go, please!”

Dean gives him a shaky smile and climbs through the window to the balcony beyond. Sam hears a thunk as Dean jumps onto the metal bones of the wheel, hears Dean mutter _goddamn_ at the rough landing, and turns from the window just in time to catch a small, powerful fist to his cheekbone.

“Hiya, Sammy,” Meg grins, white teeth gleaming in the low light of the bell tower. “Who’s your new friend?”

 

\+ + +

 

His punishment is worse than any he’s ever had, and this time there is no healing blood at the end of the night. When they finally let his battered body down onto his pallet, his dreams are angry and alive, a nest of squirming snakes. Master Jim, eyes glowing yellow in the moonlight, advances on Dean, crushing Dean’s neck under well-worn boot heels that shift seamlessly into white loafers that fill Sam with dread.

A pretty blonde girl tells Sam that this is destiny, unavoidable, and Sam wakes up bathed in sweat, fist jammed between his teeth to suppress his silent screams.

Towards dawn his nightmares smooth out, jagged edges of exposed bone melting into an arm slung around his shoulders, colorful sparks lighting up the sky, a parched field burning up from love instead of hellfire.

 

\+ + +

 

It’s that last dream that Sam clings to as he stumbles down the stairs to the sanctuary the next afternoon. He doesn’t want to disappoint Master Jim with his rebellion, but the need to see Dean again is a compulsion he can’t deny. The church is blessedly cool and empty as he makes his way to the entry and pushes through the heavy wooden door to the outside. He tries to remember the last time he stood in the sunlight, or breathed fresh air that didn’t come in through the wooden shutters of the bell tower. It was when

_when he was called Pastor Jim instead of Master Jim, and he drove Sam to school and helped him with his homework and told Sam that his family would be back for him soon, they just needed to keep him somewhere safe for now. It was before Master Jim silenced the bells in the tower forever and gave Sam a new bible to study where Jesus was replaced by Lucifer, star of the morning._

Dean’s face splits into a grin when he sees Sam, and then he really _sees_ Sam, dripping blood and with one eye swollen shut, and he drops the cup he’s holding. Sam watches it fall to the ground seemingly in slow motion, watches it land with a clap of cardboard on asphalt and miraculously stay upright, sloshing dark brown coffee onto the dirty ground.

“Dean,” Sam says, trying to smile, but he stumbles. Dean puts an arm around him and holds him upright.

“Sammy,” Dean says. “Sammy, what’d they do to you?”

“Was my fault,” Sam says, swaying on his feet. “I’m bad inside, Master Jim’s just trying to fix me.”

“Sam…”

Sam smiles at him. “I just wanted to thank you for the sandwich. For being real. Should go now.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Dean steers him towards the grassy courthouse lawn and pushes gently on his shoulder to get him to sit. Sam lays back and stares up at the cloudless sky, feels the warm prickly grass under his bare feet.

“How long you been with the carnival?” Sam asks, thinking that his dreams never included Dean taking tickets and bolting rides together.

“What? Oh. I just drove into town on their heels, thought I could pick up some extra dough.”

“Hmm,” Sam mumbles in acknowledgement, too tired to form thoughts into spoken words.

“I…actually, I came to town looking for my brother.”

Sam smiles. That’s nice. He always wanted a brother.

He closes his eyes and feels gravity pull at his body, thinks soon the earth might pull him all the way down.

“Sammy?” Dean sounds frightened and very far away.

A shadow falls over Sam’s face. “Sammy!” a voice booms, and that’s not Dean, it’s Master Jim. Sam opens his good eye and tries to sit up.

“And look who he’s found. How are you, Dean? And how’s your dear old dad?”

Dean’s on his feet, hands balled into fists, but Master Jim’s eyes turn a sickly shade of yellow and suddenly Dean is hurtling through the air, landing hard on his back on the courthouse steps.

“Sam, what have I told you about leaving hallowed grounds?”

“Please—Master,” Sam stammers, clambering to his feet. “Please don’t hurt him.”

“You should have thought of that before you disobeyed me, Sam.”

Twenty feet away, Dean sits up, looking dazed.

“Maybe you should let your brother see what a monster you really are, Sam. Maybe then he’ll leave us alone.”

 _Brother?_ Sam wonders, glancing over to Dean.

Then he realizes the townspeople are no longer trying to pop balloons with darts or shoot water into plastic clown mouths or make themselves sick on spinny rides. He looks around to see dozens, maybe hundreds of people staring at the scene unfolding on the courthouse lawn with blank, black eyes.

Master Jim flicks his finger and the skin of his wrist rips open. Blood, rich and red, wells up from the cut as Sam watches, transfixed. He flicks his eyes to Dean, sees Dean’s eyes widen in horror, but he can’t stop himself from leaning forward, latching on and swallowing down the tangy, sulfuric blood until he feels power thrumming through his veins, knitting his broken body back together.

“Sam, no!” Dean’s voice is anguished. “Sam! He’s a demon!”

“He’s made his choice, Dean, so just run along home to daddy,” Master Jim says, chuckling darkly. “Oh wait, you can’t. I killed him.”

Dean pulls a gun that’s been tucked away under his shirt and aims it at Master Jim. With another wave of his hand Dean is thrown once again, landing with a sickening crunch against the red brick of the courthouse.

“Don’t,” Sam says as he pulls his bloody lips away. “Stop hurting him.”

“Aw, Sammy,” Master Jim says with a wide smile. “Don’t tell me you’re picking that hustler over me.”

“He’s my brother?” Sam asks.

“Well, he was,” Master Jim says, taking in Dean’s crumpled form with a raised eyebrow. “Not sure he’s anything now.”

“And you, you killed my father.”

“All’s fair, Sammy. Anyways, he’s the one who dumped you here. Couldn’t wait to get rid of your worthless ass.”

Sam closes his eyes and remembers again when he was _Pastor_ Jim, with kind eyes and a heart full of grace, how he said the sounds of the church bells made him feel like God was listening to them, even if He chose not to intercede. How Jim had come back from a brief business trip acting strange, and told Sam that he had to stay up in the tower from now on.

“You’re not Jim, are you? You’re the thing that killed him.”

Master Jim shrugs and smiles. “Mea culpa. Now why don’t you run on over there and finish off Dean for me. I know you’re feeling better.”

And some part of Sam _still_ wants to obey, so used to complete subservience that not following Master Jim’s orders is almost unthinkable.

He stands his ground though, and Master Jim’s eyes glitter with malice. “Do it now, champ, or I’m going to get _very_ creative with my knives tonight.”

Sam raises a hand and feels power surge through him like lightning, sees Master Jim’s eyes widen in disbelief.

“You’re going to choose that white-trash hunter over me?”

Sam closes his hand into a fist and watches as smoke begins seeping from Master Jim’s eyes.

“You’re going to kill me? I don’t think so, little boy. I still have plans for you!”

Sam’s eyes narrow in concentration, but Master Jim is too strong. He grins in triumph as Sam feels blood begin to trickle from his nostrils and the corner of one eye.

“You ungrateful brat. I should have killed you when I killed your mother all those years ago.”

Sam feels the power ebb from his body and knows he’s lost. Strong hands grab him from behind, Meg and Tom holding him still while they await Master Jim’s final punishment.

And then Dean is there, jaw set with determination as he chambers a round in an old-fashioned pistol and pulls the trigger. In the still afternoon, the crack it makes is thunderous as it pierces Master Jim’s skull.

His body lights up, fire and ash, and then golden light pours from his eyes as he falls to the ground, dead.

Meg screams with rage and shoves Sam away from her. He sees strange pillars of smoke escape the bodies of the townspeople and zip around in confusion before streaking away in all directions.

Sam collapses, unconscious, and dreams his final prophetic dream

_of an open road, loud music filling the space around him. They are driving west, towards the coppery glow of the setting sun, and Sam’s belly is uncomfortably full of something called pie, which Dean won’t stop feeding him to make up for the past 15 years._

_The demon that called itself Jim is dead and Sam and Dean are alive, speeding down the two-lane blacktop towards an unknowable future, together._

 

 


End file.
